


Mark, of course, follows.

by justwankers



Category: Trainspotting (1996)
Genre: M/M, Memories, Slight talks of violence, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9532205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwankers/pseuds/justwankers
Summary: Sick boy gets into a bit of a fight with Begbie at the pub. Mark is there to tend to him.





	

Mark sits there listening, barely, to Begbie drone on about how he's gonna "do his head in" or so he says. Mark knows nothing of the matter, his drink settling further down into his system and his eyes elsewhere. His gaze settles upon Simon across from him, as a matter of fact, his gaze always seems to settle upon Simon nowadays. Sat lazily in his seat, Si argues cautiously with Beggars about one thing or another. Cautiously is the only way you can argue with Frank Begbie, unless you want to be thrown through a window. Spud is, god knows, there's always a slight uncertainty when it comes to Daniel Murphy, you'll never truly know where he is or whatever bizarre antic he's doing, in a world of his own that boy. 

Rents is pulled quickly out of his thought of mind when he hears the smashing of pint glasses before him. He snaps his head up to see Begbie gripping Simon by his button down grey shirt, Simon obviously smug with an award-winning grin on his face. He talks to Begbie in a strange calmness, coesering him into releasing the tight grasp on his neck, calling him by his first name. This, of course only further angering the elder man, blood boiling through his reddened face. Mark stands, uncertain on how to break this apart, it's usually the men in the question to show bravery, Mark, not so much, so he just finishes off his pint and slams it down on the table infront of him and leaves to the gents, letting them deal with this in their own violent way. He hears the call of "Oi, rent boy geh back ere now" from a filthy mouth but he pays no notice and pushes his scrawny self through the crowded loo. 

He goes to the furthest stall and throws open the door then sits on the closed lid, no lock nessecary, what does he care if someone walks in? Could do with some good company. He's considering lighting a smoke when he hears a knock to the wood separating him and rough knuckles. 

"Who's et?" He calls out with a bored tone over the music and he scrambles to put the cigarettes back away. 

"Is me Mark, I can see ya scruffy shoes under the door." And with that Rents is looking down consciously at his white, more brown than anything now, converse. They bounce nervously up and down. The door is pushed aside and there he stands, the almighty Sick boy, the movie star looker, sporting a bloody nose and an eye to match. Mark Renton's face shifts from concerned to upset in the time it takes for him to stand up and cradle Simons jaw. Sick boy winces more due to the act of affection rather than the aching pain in his face, Renton holds his face harder. 

"Ya alright Sicky?" Renton shouts over the noise. 

Sick boy shrugs, "I dunno man, jus Begbie is all, he's gone now" 

Renton looks at the soreness surrounding his right eye, still beautifully green under all that. Marks hand drop. Simon soon gets bored of the evergrowing silence which isn't really there. 

"Aye Marky, what you say about gettin back to mine?" 

Mark raises an eyebrow, Simons? "We haven't been back to yours in ages ave we."

Simon does a simple nod in his direction before raising him hand to start wiping the blood from his nose and leaving the stall. Mark, of course, follows. 

-

Even at the door, Simon is still complaining about his bloodied face and Begbies behaviour yet Mark still isn't entirely sure what had happened between the pair. Sick sticks the key in the door and Mark watches him do so, trying three or four times before falling into it. 

"Home sweet home," Sick boy exclaims roughly throwing Mark before him into the messy house. Mark stumbles a bit before regaining his balance and takes a look around the almost unfamiliar area, Simons mams, he hasn't been here since he was seventeen, since his mam had died, it's different now, less clean, less like a home. Now it's just a place that Simon occasionally sleeps, he's usually at the flat nowadays, but tonight the house will do. 

"Sit down by there will ya?" Simon says, nodding towards the sofa as he begins to tug off his grey shirt, unbuttoning slowly. Mark tears his eyes away from the soon to be sight. 

The time it takes for Mark to sit down on the old couch, Sick boy is already shirtless and at his side with a bit of tissue paper shoved halfway up his bloody nose. He looks ridiculous, Mark thinks. 

"So, how I look then Marky?", this causes him to look up to Sick boys face for only a brief moment, he has that look in his eyes. He quickly turns away upon seeing this, muttering a: "uh, yeah good Si." Sick boy frowns.

"Why don't you look at me anymore, aye?" He says placing two bloody fingers under Mark Renton's chin, and he's soon short of breathe when his head is tilted up to look Simon in his eyes. Beautiful Simon in his stupid fucking eyes, which are still just as pretty even with dark bruises forming, maybe even prettier. Sick boy is leaning in closer and now Mark is really struggling to keep his cool, their mouths inches apart and now he's thinking he might just prefer Sick boy like this, all bloody and wrecked, so vulnerable yet holding so much control. 

"Aye?" Simon repeats, ripping Mark out of his head trance. Mark is flustered now and he's unable to form words. Simon smiles at his power, reaching down and feeling the hardness which has since formed in Marks jeans, a further smugness is sprung across Simons face, as if he knew all alone what he was doing, as if this was his plan. Mark Renton officially cannot breathe. Simon leans in even closer and his breathe is cascading down Marks nose, the warmest he has felt in years, his eyes begin the shut going towards the heat of his mouth, this becoming too much similar to the last time they were in this house. And just like that Simon is gone. Gone to the bathroom or someplace or another shouting back about a "bloody nose." Mark sighs, a mixture of relief and disappointment, regaining his strength and slightly palming to his crotch, praying his boner would just go away somehow. Simon calls him into the bathroom. Mark, of course, follows. 

-

On the side of the tub he sits, leaning his hands over to the sink basin to his right side, cleaning off the blood. Mark gazed at this in slight amazement, he's never seen Simon like this, moving with such elegancy, must be the pain that's making him so soft. Closer to him, Mark moves as Simon starts to wind a piece of toilet paper into a size that would plug up his nose. Mark laughs at this, Simon does too. This isn't uncommon for them, to laugh at each others pure stupidity, even when it's not really funny. Mark stands in front of Si and tilts his head back, wiping the dry blood away with a wet towel. Once he's done he sits opposite to Simon on the closed toilet seat. 

"You never did tell me what happened between you and Beggars." Mark questions for the first time tonight, and this causes Si to stir slightly. 

"Uh, he was talking badly about you." Simon admits, still avoiding any sort of eye contact with the other boy. 

This doesn't take Renton by surprise, why should he care what Begbie has to say about him? He asks what he said anyway. 

"He said you were weak," Simon says still looking at anything he can occupy his gaze with. "and that you'd never quit your addiction."

Renton nods, he's not taken back by any of this, he knows full well that he's weak, weaker than most and that he will probably never give up the skag, but why was Simon so protective over him?

Simon now looks to him, "he even called you a bufie, Mark, which your not." Now this is something that hits Rents like a ton of bricks. A buftie? He's not sure, he could never even consider that possibility with people like Franco around. His mind trails back a few years, maybe even a few minutes, maybe he is? And it's like he's living it all over again; him and Simon, in this house, only seventeen years old. He looks to Simon, the boy who's usually so hard to read, and knows he thinking of the exact same thing. He chooses to ignore it. "Did you hit him first?" He asks instead. 

"Uh yeah." He stutters. "Can't have him saying shit about you like that now can we?" He laughs, punching Mark on the arm slightly. Mark laughs back, awkwardly more than anything. 

It's silent in the bathroom the only sound heard is the tap running slowly by the side of them both, Renton gets up timidly, turning it off and leaving the bathroom, feeling eyes watch his every move. 

He feels much more comfortable when he's back in the living room seated on the couch. He flicks the tv on and watches whatever old shit which is on, still slightly dazed from the memory which is still present in his mind, surely it doesn't make him a queer? He was only young when it happened yet he can still feel every emotion he did that day. He can still remember the way Simon felt pushing into him, pressing him down with strong hands. He shakes the thought away, pulls out a bad, nothing a good hit can't get rid off.


End file.
